


Accidental Research

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Huddling For Warmth, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020, Some Humor, Trapped In A Closet, Tropes, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: Both Sherlock Holmes and Dr Molly Hooper pride themselves on making evidence based, well researched decisions. But sometimes the life changing conclusions they reach come from moments that one or both of them didn’t even plan. (Based on the tropes outlined for each of the 7 days of Sherlolly Appreciation Week, 2020)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 103
Kudos: 209
Collections: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020





	1. A Study in Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Bed Sharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lexie came up with the idea to take ALL the prompts in the Sherlolly Appreciation Week list and apply them to The Abominable Bride universe. Couldn’t say no to that idea! :)

Molly sighed to herself for about the tenth time, eyes wide open as she lay in the darkened little hotel room in Paris. 

This had quickly become nothing short of preposterous. 

Five days ago, Sherlock Holmes had barged into Bart’s hospital, rambling on about the exciting but rather inconvenient news. Namely, that the Watsons were newly expecting their first child, but that it put the detective in a rather difficult position, having recently accepted a case abroad which would require an assistant. Apparently the new baby was not yet agreeing with Mrs Watson’s stomach, and the good doctor felt she needed him to be a more constant presence.

Sherlock had then informed _Hooper_ that _his_ expertise would fill the void nicely.

Molly, possibly against her better judgement, accepted his request. She’d convinced herself that they were both adults, well aware of the truth of the matter, and seeing as nobody else was there was little chance at causing offense.

While her time with the brides was over, she managed to come out unscathed, thanks in no small part to Mycroft Holmes. Molly recognized how lucky she had been and the need to be gracious, even if that meant indulging the whims of the more volatile of the Holmes brothers from time to time. 

And now, here they both were, spending their third night in this hotel which apparently couldn’t give them two rooms or, indeed, two beds. She’d seem Holmes bristle slightly when the clerk at the front desk informed him that there was no added vacancy and that they could only provide his initial reservation of a standard, one bed, room. 

No matter, he’d assured her as they climbed the steps with their bags in hand, explaining that he rarely slept anyway.

His pacing was becoming truly maddening. 

Molly turned over, trying to eliminate the view of his back and forth from her peripheral, but she could still hear his soft steps and the words he spoke under his breath. 

The first two nights had been tolerable. He’d insisted she take the bed and she’d managed to sleep for some hours uninterrupted. But something changed on the third day and Molly was becoming more keenly aware of the true state of things. 

She heard the grandfather clock in the hallway outside their room strike the hour, making it two in the morning now. That did it. 

Molly threw the covers off her, sitting up to lock eyes with him as he spun at seeing her sudden movement. 

“When was the last time you slept?” she questioned sternly.

She couldn’t see his confused frown in the dark, but she could practically feel it.

“Miss Hooper, do not concern yourself with how much-“

“Would you please do me the courtesy of simply answering the question?”

He paused.

“I...dozed off a bit in the chair last night. A couple of times I believe.”

Molly nodded to herself. “Yes, just as I suspected. Well then...get in.”

This prompted a lengthier pause.

“As I believe I already stated, insomnia does not hold the negative effects for me that it does for most people, particularly when I’m on a case, therefore I am far more capable of-“

“You were not so capable today, Mr. Holmes.”

His indignance shone through, even in the dark.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, you heard me,” Molly sighed. “Mr. Holmes, three times today you were incapable of conjuring the correct word when speaking to the client, which I had to fill in for you. Twice you began to fall asleep during a carriage ride, and then when pouring your tea you nearly dropped the pot, a lack in dexterity which is _wholly_ uncharacteristic for you.”

Sherlock cleared his throat after hearing her list of evidence and replied, his tone notably sheepish. 

“Even in the event of a need for rest, I imagine that you see the predicament we find ourselves in to be...less than ideal.”

“Oh for pity sake,” Molly groaned. “I said _get in_! As a doctor, I cannot allow this foolishness to continue. Furthermore, while I can appreciate your frankly overdeveloped sense of chivalry, I consider my virtue to be in no immediate danger and will feel quite free to inform you if that circumstance should change, though I imagine it unlikely as you will be asleep before your head meets the pillow!”

“Miss Hooper, honestly-“

“Holmes!”

Her louder, slightly lower, and more authoritative use of his name seemed to do the trick.

Molly watched as Sherlock made somewhat irritated movements, shrugging off his jacket and waistcoat and then kicking off his shoes before finally crashing into the bed next to her. 

_Right_ next to her, considering the size of the bed.

“There,” she said, lying back against her pillow and exhaling contentedly. “Now go to sleep and I feel sure you’ll thank me in the morning.”

Sherlock let out a slow sigh, his reply a bit petulant. “You’re terribly sure of yourself.”

“Yes, occasionally someone other than yourself is,” she said softly, closing her eyes as she noted the smell of his particular brand of soap. “Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”

She felt him shift slightly, getting comfortable, and could hear the lull in his voice when he finally answered.

“Goodnight, Miss Hooper.”

* * *

Sherlock sat in the little armchair at the opposite side of the room, legs crossed neatly and fingers steepled against his lips...his eyes fixed, unmovable, on the bed across from him.

Her arm was still draped across the vacant side of the bed, which was where he had been lying less than an hour earlier. It was the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes. That pale, delicate little arm across his chest, the nightdress sleeve having bunched up above her elbow.

Sherlock hadn’t wanted to touch it, for fear of waking her. And so the painstaking process of extricating himself from that bed turned into quite a project over the next five minutes. Moving himself without disturbing another person was quite a new way to wake in the morning.

Feeling her hand slide across his chest over his shirt as he moved was also rather new.

The fan of dark hair that surrounded her now, her arm still stretched out somehow gracefully while still being haphazard, and the partially visible white cotton of her nightdress around her shoulders brought him to a somewhat shocking conclusion.

She was a _woman_.

No, he was not still in the dark about the very basic truth of her sex. But the evident reality of it hadn’t truly hit him until then. Up to last night, he’d been opting not to share a bed with her on general principle alone. Rules of proprietary that existed on paper, but certainly not for his own personal boundaries. 

In the light of day, literally and figuratively, he felt somewhat differently. 

Not thirty seconds later, Sherlock’s eyes went wide and he jumped excitedly from his chair, which prompted Molly to wake suddenly from her peaceful slumber.

“Ah good, you‘re awake!” 

Sherlock began hurrying about the room, gathering things and stuffing them into his leather satchel while Molly rubbed her eyes and muttered some sort of question of what he was doing.

“Pack your things, Hooper,” he explained excitedly. “We shall be traveling back to London today, for this case is solved!”

“What...just now?”

“Just now, precisely.”

“Right,” she said softly. “Well then, I suppose I should begin dressing.”

Sherlock paused for a breath, noting her exit from the bed and the way she quickly straightened the nightdress to cover her legs. He frowned to himself, then continued in his chosen area of focus- packing! Though he did pause for one more moment.

“Oh and Hooper?”

She turned, smoothing some tousled locks aside to look at him as she gathered her clothing and wig to prepare for the exit of their room.

“It pains me a great deal to admit when I am wrong,” he said with a little smirk. “But I find myself compelled to give you exactly what you predicted I would last night.”

Molly’s lips lifted proudly even before the gift he verbally bestowed.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going through the whole list of prompts for each of the 7 days of this Sherlolly week, so stay tuned! See you tomorrow for Day 2, which is Fake/undercover relationship! ;)


	2. A Study in Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Undercover as a couple

Molly fidgeted with the edges of the lace gloves she wore, fabric rustling as she shifted nervously where she sat in the moving carriage.

“You’re quite clearly uncomfortable in your own skin, Hooper.”

She sighed. Of course he would notice.

“I don’t believe this can be attributed to my skin. It’s been some time since I’ve been out in the public eye and dressed in such...”

“Completely feminine attire?”

Molly gave him a tight smile. “Good of you to put it so bluntly, Holmes. You know, despite the claim of a feminine style being delicate, everything is bulky and heavy and painful. And honestly, I feel I look somewhat ridiculous.”

He said nothing in response to that, though when she glanced back at him across the carriage, she found that his eyes were in fact still on her.

Molly cleared her throat. “And besides, you’ve yet to explain yourself fully. I know little else besides the fact that this is a party of some kind.”

“Ah yes, this is likely a good time to make sure you’re fully aware of the deception,” Sherlock replied, scooting forward a bit as he dug around in his pocket.

“Deception?”

“Yes, here you are,” he said, handing over a scrap of newspaper. “We’ve lately been married.”

Molly stared back at him, slack jawed. “Pardon? Forgive me, Holmes, but I feel quite sure we haven’t.” 

“Well, yes of course not really,” he laughed, then pointed to the newspaper. “I simply mean I’ve published an announcement.”

Molly lifted the paper, straining to read where he’d pointed out in the dim evening light. And then she saw it.

“Good God, Holmes!” She set it down again, eyes wide in shock. “That’s my real name!”

“Yes, that was rather convenient, seeing as nobody actually knows you- the _real you_ , that is. I imagine there are no other unmarried young women in London who would have been quite so useful.”

Molly felt her jaw open and close a few times, not sure what to say first in response to such an outrage. “Dear God, Holmes, please tell me there’s a good reason for this before I decide on which way I’m actually going to murder you.” 

His lips twitched in the slightest of smiles. “Ah yes, allow me to quickly explain before we arrive. I’ve lately been approached by a client- a young man who was recently married to a woman of _large fortune_. Upon becoming married, apparently largely due to his family’s wishes, he was thrown into the path of quite a disturbing secret society.”

Molly didn’t like where this was going.

“The sole purpose of this group of slimy, spineless men is to plan and carry out the deaths of their extremely wealthy wives. And unlike the motives among your former band of colleagues, the motive is purely financial.”

“Wait, so in order to gain access…”

“Yes quite right, Hooper. I had to produce some evidence of being a married man. The leader is understandably suspicious of newcomers. But I did indeed gain access, and have been let into their little plan, a plan which they believe will take place tonight at this party!”

“Tonight?!” Molly clasped a hand over her corset burdened middle. “Women will be murdered tonight.”

“Not if I can help it,” he replied with a grin. “I know what they’re planning and Inspector Lestrade will be arriving before the plan can be set in motion.”

Molly thought for a moment, her brow furrowing. “But I thought you said your client was one of these men. Doesn’t that mean he wanted to kill his wife?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Apparently he got cold feet. I’ve arranged for no more than a slap on the wrist for him at Scotland Yard. The leader of these men has already successfully killed his own wife, so striking a deal of leniency for my client in exchange for a murderer and a half dozen other intended murders was somewhat easy. Inspector Lestrade and his men are scheduled to arrive in no more than an hour.”

“I see.” She was a little horrified at the grim picture they were about to walk into. Though, less so than she would be to have a half dozen women brought into her morgue.

Molly almost jumped when he reached across a moment later, laying his hand over hers. 

“Eat and drink nothing while we’re here,” he instructed, a new seriousness in his tone. “And do not leave my side.”

Molly felt suddenly unable to catch her breath but she managed to nod in agreement. It was all just in time, seeing as the carriage arrived at its destination. 

A few minutes later she was walking into a party at a fine London home, arm in arm with Sherlock Holmes. Even greeting these other men, particularly the host, made her stomach turn. 

After they’d been there for a short time, Molly leaned over, speaking to Sherlock in a hushed tone.

“Is that your client and his wife over there by the fire?”

Sherlock glanced down at Molly, a glint of surprise in his gaze. “Yes it is. How did you know?”

She smiled back at him. “They rather stand out, don’t you think?”

Sherlock looked at them and then back at her. “In what way?”

Molly laughed a little. “Don’t you see, Holmes? I venture to say it was much more than cold feet that changed that young man’s mind and brought him to your door. He’s fallen in love with her.”

It was a little comical the way Sherlock’s inquisitive eyes darted back to the couple in question, watching intently and processing their every mannerism.

“Love...a much more vicious motivator,” he murmured. “And in this case, a much preferable one.”

“She is fortunate,” Molly added, watching the beaming young wife as he tone became a bit solemn. “Unlike the other poor women in this room, who will never be truly free of these despicable men, even if they are locked up.”

“Perhaps you are the most fortunate.”

She looked up, catching his eyes again and realizing how long her hand had been nestled in the crook of his arm. It had begun to feel like home.

“Perhaps I am,” she agreed softly. “I am at no man’s mercy.”

Sherlock looked away again, and then was silent for a long while before suddenly speaking.

“There are a very few minutes left before the inspector’s arrival, so despite the ruse, in an attempt to distance myself from the unfeeling behavior of most of the other men in this room, I’d like to tell you that you were incorrect in the carriage.”

Molly frowned in confusion. “Incorrect about what?”

He met her gaze again, eyes sweeping over her in a way she’d rarely seen. 

“You _do not_ look ridiculous tonight, Hooper. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Molly wondered if this blasted corset could possibly feel any tighter, because now she truly couldn’t catch her breath.

“Holmes, I-“

A banging was heard on the front door and Sherlock responded instantly, ushering her off to the other end of the room as chaos erupted.

Lestrade and a team from Scotland Yard rushed in, arresting a total of eleven men and multiple staff members. The plan was somewhat simple, but many were paid to participate. It was to be poison, but not the same for all the women. They were each to be given drinks and food laced with different cocktails of poison, all which would take effect after different amounts of time. None would exhibit exactly the same symptoms, and all could appear to be something far more simple. But upon examining the kitchen, the evidence was there.

Molly spent some with some of the distraught wives before finally taking her leave with Sherlock after the arrests had been made. It was quite a thing to witness. And by the time she’d arrived back at her flat, she felt as though she’d been through quite an ordeal.

“Holmes,” Molly voiced before getting out. “I do have one request.”

“After your participation tonight, Hooper, anything.”

She leaned forward a bit, eyeing him seriously in the darkened carriage, even though a smile played at the corners of her lips.

“The next time you see fit to have us married, I would very much appreciate the chance to give or refuse my consent. Is that understood?”

“That seems a fair request.” Sherlock grinned. “I gladly agree to your terms.”

“Very good of you,” she replied with a little nod. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am looking forward to a good night’s rest and to putting on a comfortable pair of trousers tomorrow morning.”

Molly stopped as she closed the carriage door behind her, dropping her voice a little.

“But even so...thank you, Holmes. I didn’t get a chance to say so earlier.”

He simply tipped his hat and gave her a little smile, making her wonder how she’d manage to stay serious and stern in his presence at the hospital. Something was changing, she knew that for certain as she watched the carriage drive away. It was an unexpected sort of change.

But she had to admit it was not entirely unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s not often Molly gets all fancy and lady like these days, and someone is clearly not immune to her charms lol. Day 3’ theme is being trapped in a small space or room, so keep an eye out for that chapter tomorrow! ;)


	3. A Study in Confinement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3- Trapped in a Room

“Ah, Mr. Holmes, how do you do?”

“Perfectly well, Anderson,” Sherlock replied begrudgingly. “Where is Hooper?”

“He’s just down the hall in a storage cupboard, you’ll see. Will you be working here tonight? If you’ll be needing anything I can certainly-“

“No no, clearly you’re on your way home for the night and I wouldn’t dream of stopping you,” Sherlock said quite honestly. The last thing he wanted was to have Anderson in their hair, forcing him and Molly to put on more of an act.

Anderson bid him goodnight then, taking his coat and hat off the rack by the door and exiting the way Holmes had just come in, leaving it quite literally deathly silent. Ideal, in Sherlock’s estimation. 

“Hooper?” Sherlock called as he walked down the little hallway.

“In here,” she called back, still using her lower tone.

Sherlock stopped in the doorway of the little cupboard, probably about six by four, the back wall lined with some shelves.

“What’s all this?” he questioned, seeing the small dishes she was arranging on the lowest shelf.

“Just checking on some cultures I’ve been observing. My own tests, really.” She was holding a little note pad and jotting some things down.

The image was somehow...endearing? Sherlock couldn’t really come up with any other word. He’d be lying to himself if he claimed not to be recently drawn towards her in a way he hadn’t experienced before. St. Bart’s hospital had always held many appeals to him, but now it seemed to be far more to do with the company than the contents. 

“Excellent,” Sherlock replied excitedly, stepping inside and keeping his eyes fixed on her. “I was hoping for a bit of distraction tonight, so I-“

“Wait no, Holmes, don’t!“

The door shut behind him and realization hit him at the very same moment. Sherlock’s eyes shut and he sighed in exasperation at himself...he knew there was no handle inside this particular cupboard! Apparently he’d been  _ too _ distracted. 

“We’re going to have to yell for Anderson,” Molly suggested.

Sherlock pressed his lips tightly together, turning sheepishly to face her again.

“That may prove difficult...seeing as Anderson has just left for the night.”

“What?!” Her eyes became a little panic stricken. “Holmes, we could be stuck in here until morning!”

“Well…” Sherlock exhaled in a puff of air as he pointed to the small vent at the top of the wall. “Fortunately we are below and not above the boiler room. The temperature shouldn’t rise all that much.”

Molly huffed, running her hands over her face. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Hope that somebody dies before morning and hospital staff has to bring the body downstairs?” he suggested with a little laugh.

“I really shouldn’t, but I’m beginning to wish for just that,” Molly agreed.

Sherlock lowered himself to the floor with a little grunt and leaned his back against the wall. “May as well make ourselves comfortable.”

He picked up on Molly’s hesitation, but a moment later she followed his lead, sitting down and leaning against the opposite wall, their legs stretched out parallel to each other.

Silence set in for a minute as Molly seemed to search for a topic.

“How is Mrs Watson?”

“She seems well now. Watson says she’s passed the worst of it.” Sherlock tilted his head. “Well, perhaps not, considering labor and delivery are still to come in some months.”

Molly laughed. “Well I’m pleased for them.”

Sherlock regarded her with some interest, the way her gaze shifted away from him and to somewhere else...somewhere far away. Then she suddenly straightened up again and cleared her throat. He decided to attempt a contribution to the conversation. 

“Any violent deaths recently?”

Molly’s brow furrowed in thought. “No, none that I can recall. Been rather quiet.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Mm, just terrible when there’s relative peace in the city,” she replied with a little laugh.

He had to admit it was a little warm in the confines of the room, even sitting on the floor. It was actually somewhat calming. Leaning his head back against the wall, Sherlock shut his eyes, taking the opportunity to spend some time in his mind palace…

“Was that footsteps?”

Sherlock’s eyes shot open, looking at Molly across from him. She was leaning over his legs to get her ear closer to the door. He also noted the fact that she’d removed her jacket. Sherlock checked his pocket watch, realizing that some time must have passed. 

“It’s been over an hour,” he commented.

“I thought you might have gone to sleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Not asleep, no. Just in my mind palace.”

“Ah yes,” Molly said with a little nod. “Watson speaks of that method of yours often in his stories.”

“Watson’s stories,” Sherlock said with a little chuckle. “Sometimes I wonder at his portrayal of me.”

“It’s awfully entertaining. I haven’t missed one yet. Not in all the three years I’ve been in London.” 

Sherlock was warmed a bit at this statement, one that she wouldn’t have so readily admitted to in the past.

“Three years, hm?” Sherlock prompted. “And may I ask, what exactly drove you to...these lengths?”

Molly shrugged. “My father, being on the board, was the reason I got into medical school despite my gender in the first place. I was able to pass the board and graduate. I’m not wholly proud of the fact that I needed his influence to do all of that, but ultimately I was grateful, since it afforded me the opportunity to make an independent life for myself.”

She paused. 

“But then he died. Suddenly it was as if I wasn’t a doctor at all. Not a soul cared about the license I processed or the specialized training I’d received. I was alone, I could not support myself, and all of that time seemed wasted. I suppose I just...became desperate.”

“You took your life into your own hands. Quite brilliantly, by my estimation.”

Molly held his gaze for a long moment, the ghost of a smile at her lips pulling at her mustache. But then she looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. 

“I wouldn’t call joining up with the Brides brilliant. That’s been my worst decision since coming to the city and I’ve narrowly escaped its consequences. Sometimes I wonder how long I’ll be able to manage all of this. It could all come crashing down at any moment. It’s a risk I take every single day. Even with your brother’s assistance, I could still lose everything.”

“You don’t just have my brother’s assistance,” Sherlock said softly, causing her eyes to lift again and meet his. “You have me.”

Something in her gaze told him she wasn’t fully convinced. Molly Hooper, for better or worse, had seen some of the worst that men had to offer. Sherlock couldn’t blame her for being hesitant.

He reached over, taking her hand just for a moment as he spoke more firmly. “I mean it. You won’t lose everything. Not if I can help it.”

Sherlock could have sworn he saw the rise and fall of her chest speed up as her little fingers curled around his in response. They sat there for a moment, both leaning forward a bit with their hands still connected. He suddenly realized it was incredibly warm in that little room, though he wasn’t fully convinced it was the vent to the boiler room.

Molly’s head whirled toward the door.

“I heard it too,” Sherlock said with a smile as he picked up the same pattern of footsteps.

They both stood and Sherlock began pounding on the door as Molly pulled her jacket back on. The footsteps grew closer and finally the door was pulled open.

“Mr Holmes, Dr Hooper!” Stamford exclaimed, looking at both of them. “How ever did you find yourselves locked in here?”

“Ah, well,” Sherlock began, straightening his jacket as they exited the room. “You know how I can get when I’m particularly distracted by something. I do tend to miss other things.”

The look he gave Molly as he spoke was brief but pointed, and a rather attractive blush erupted on her cheeks as she gave him a little smile. Sherlock began to realize that if that particular sight was all he’d gained from his trip to St. Bart’s hospital that night, it had not been a waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone’s caught the feeeeels! See you tomorrow, and Day 4’s theme is, pretend to know my because this person won’t stop flirting with me. I modified if for the times lol!


	4. A Study in Misdirection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4- This person won’t stop flirting with me, please pretend to know me

“You want me to do what?”

Molly sighed, being mortified enough to have said it once.

“Just for today,” she added. “I’m sure he’ll never want to visit again after this! As he said, it’s just to pay his respects.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I must say, Hooper, I am rather impressed at your quick thinking when receiving your admirer’s original letter. Ingenious to think of using the wedding announcement I’d had published some weeks ago!”

Molly didn’t feel particularly ingenious.

“He must have been terribly smitten,” Sherlock said with a teasing smirk as he slid the letter back and forth between his fingers. “Five years later and he decides to proclaim his undying love!”

She couldn’t hide the blush on her cheeks even if she tried.

“He’s a lovely man, he really is. And I even fancied him a bit, when we were younger. But now I find I don’t- that is, I just don’t want that- with _him_ , I should say…” Molly waved her hand, cutting off her own rambling. “But it was stupid to reject his advances by writing back and saying I’d recently been married and sending that announcement from the paper. I nearly fell over when I got his second letter stating that he’d be in London _today_ and should like to call on us.”

“Well,” Sherlock said, standing from his chair with a little clap of his hands. “It is fortunate I have no pressing cases today and can pour all of my energy and abilities into this endeavor. You’re fortunate that this is Mrs. Hudson’s day off as well, so you won’t have to hear too much clucking. Have you any idea of his arrival time?”

Molly shook her head, running her nervous hands over the skirts of her rarely worn dress. “No, which is why I came over directly after receiving the post. I was terrified he could have already shown up at your door!”

“I would have figured things out.”

Molly sputtered out a little laugh. “All of it? I can’t imagine even you would have been able to deduce all the history of why this strange man was at our flat talking as if we were married.”

“Perhaps not...but I would have played along, just the same.” He gave her a little smile that made her stomach do a pleasant little flip.

That was when they heard footsteps ascending the steps of 221B. Now Molly’s stomach did a far more unpleasant sort of flip, terror taking hold that they’d somehow ruin this and make them both look like complete fools. Sherlock gave her a little nod, moving towards the study as they heard the knock at his door.

“Darling, why don’t you see who’s at the door,” Sherlock said to her, being very purposely audible.

Molly took a breath of courage and opened the door with a bright smile.

“Thomas Harding, my goodness!” she exclaimed, looking into the eyes of her old friend. “I wondered if we might see you today. Do come in!”

“Thank you so much.” The man stepped inside, removing his hat as he did. “I hope it’s not an intrusion, I just thought it would be a shame to be right here in London and miss seeing you- and your husband of course!”

“Did somebody say husband?” Sherlock asked with a little smirk as he rounded the corner. “I believe that’s me.”

“Mr. Harding,” Molly introduced, “This is my husband, Sherlock Holmes. And darling, this is Mr. Thomas Harding.”

“A great pleasure to meet you sir,” Thomas said enthusiastically, shaking Sherlock’s hand. “I already know you must be a man of impeccable character to have earned the hand of Miss Hooper- ah, pardon me! Mrs. Holmes, I should say!”

“I certainly do my best, and as for the less appealing parts of my character, my darling wife is terribly forgiving,” Sherlock replied with a grin. “We were just about to put the kettle on, weren’t we? Mr. Harding, would you care for some tea?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t impose!”

“Not at all!” Sherlock insisted. “Please, we’d be happy for you to join us.”

Molly glanced at Sherlock and she was pretty sure he picked up on the objection in her eyes. They could have exchanged some pleasantries and let the man be on his way. Now they’d need to continue this charade through tea and she hadn’t necessarily prepared herself for that.

“Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable,” Molly forced herself to say, taking Thomas’s coat and hat and hanging them up before turning back to Sherlock. “I’ll get the tea started.”

“Excellent! I’ll just give you a hand, seeing as the stove has been terribly fickle of late. You will excuse us, Mr. Harding. You have caught us on the day off of the help, you see.”

Mr. Harding seemed to blush at this. “Oh I’m terribly sorry for the imposition, in that case.”

“Nonsense, good man,” Sherlock waved him to sit again. “Any friend of my Molly’s is welcome any day indeed. We don’t stand to ceremony here.”

The two of them went down and through to the kitchen as Thomas made himself comfortable on the sofa. Sherlock instantly joined Molly by as she filled the kettle, speaking in a hushed tone.

“I think you should understand his true intentions of coming to call.”

“Oh?” Molly breathed in answer. 

Heavens, she could smell his soap, the bit of hair pomade, and the tobacco from his pipe, and the combination was surprisingly intoxicating.

“He’s not just here to pay his respects, he’s here to pass judgement on our marriage and decide if it’s worth continuing to write to you.”

Molly’s eyes got wide. “I don’t want him to continue writing to me!”

“I assumed as much.”

“So we need to be convincing then,” she hissed emphatically. “I hate to ask such a thing of you, but I beg you...please leave no doubt in his mind about the happiness in our union.”

“Believe me, Hooper,” Sherlock replied with a devious smirk. “That was already my intent.”

Some minutes later, they all sat with their tea, Molly becoming a little uncomfortable as Mr Harding went on and on about their years growing up together.

“It was a simpler time I’d say,” he said thoughtfully. “I never really understood how you wanted to get into something like _medicine_ as we got older.”

Molly couldn’t help thinking he said the word like it was a disease instead of the opposite. 

“Well it takes a very specific sort of mind to be drawn to such a field,” Sherlock commented before Molly could make a reply. He turned, gazing at her in what could only be described as adoration. “A brilliant mind.”

Molly felt her cheeks flush and she smiled shyly back at him. “Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.” She looked at Mr. Harding. “Mr. Holmes is known both in London and even abroad as one of the very best detectives. I could only hope to be half so brilliant!”

“How fascinating,” Mr. Harding commented. “You must be highly sought after and kept terribly busy with such a profession.”

“I am often busy, yes,” Sherlock replied, setting his tea cup down after taking a sip.

Mr Harding made a little clicking sound with his tongue, smiling at Molly. “How lonely for a new bride.”

Molly’s blood began to boil. Sherlock was more than correct in his deduction of Mr Harding’s intentions and she was not having it.

Molly reached over, taking hold of Sherlock’s hand atop his knee. “Actually, since becoming Mrs. Holmes I haven’t felt lonely for one moment,” she said directly to her supposed husband.

She could have sworn she saw Sherlock gulp as he squeezed her hand in response. Their shared gaze started to make her a little lightheaded, so she released his hand and smiled at their guest. 

“Do tell us how your family business has been?”

“Thriving, I’m pleased to say!” Thomas replied. 

He definitely did seem pleased to say it and proceeded to go on about the particulars of the masonry business and why he was so successful at it for at least the next twenty minutes. Molly had to contain her amusement a number of times because Sherlock was very clearly struggling to contain his irritation. 

“Well…” Thomas set his finally empty cup down and stood up. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. It was lovely of you to have me in.”

“Oh it was our pleasure,” Molly gushed as she and Sherlock stood with him, thrilled that he was finally taking his leave. “Very kind of you to call.”

“Not at all. I’m so glad for you...to see you settled.” Thomas gave the two of them a tight smile.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock reached over, gently brushing a lock of hair off the side of her face as he gazed down at her.

“I can honestly say I’ve never felt so very happily settled,” he said softly.

Molly nearly forgot anyone else was in the room with them until Thomas Harding was heard taking his coat from the rack and slipping it on.

“Congratulations again,” Thomas added. “I wish you both all the best.”

“And you as well,” Sherlock replied, placing an arm around Molly’s shoulders.

When the man had taken his leave, they stood there for a moment, Sherlock’s arm still around her and both unmoving. 

“Well,” Molly finally said, her voice cracking a bit as Sherlock finally stepped away. “I feel that was...surely quite convincing.”

“Yes,” Sherlock stepped aside, hands clasping behind his back. “I could tell by the time he left that he will not be attempting contact again.”

“Well, thank goodness for that!”

“I agree,” Sherlock replied, giving her a little smile that took her aback. “Thank goodness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pretend to be married to me was a bit more fitting for the time period lol. Tomorrow is a fun one as well! It’s time for “Enemies to lovers/rivals to lovers.” :)


	5. A Study in Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5- Enemies to lovers/rivals to lovers

“Are you going to behave yourself today, Holmes?” John asked as the cab carried them through the London streets.

Sherlock’s gaze remained fixed outside. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“Can you not?” John shook his head. “I am referring to your recent need to argue with Miss- with Hooper.”

Sherlock turned to frown at his friend. “You’re misinterpreting, Watson. I have simply been working especially hard on the case this week. Inspector Lestrade has been in great need of-“

“The inspector cannot possibly be in need of you being rude to a friend. What has gotten into you? I have not misinterpreted, and it’s clear something has changed this past week between the two of you. I don’t know what it is, but it’s quite plain.”

Sherlock turned away again, clenching his jaw and refusing to offer a real explanation. Yes something had changed... _he_ had changed. 

Suddenly, all he could see were Molly’s big brown eyes and her little lips smiling sweetly at him. When he closed his eyes at night he heard her voice, her real voice. He couldn’t stop thinking back to the case many weeks before when they’d shared a bed together and how it felt to wake with her arm draped lazily over his chest. Like it had always belonged there. 

But all these things were troublesome, to say the least. They were a slap in the face of all he’d ever believed and lived by. The idea that she had so thoroughly invaded his thoughts and that he not only enjoyed that but wanted more, it shook him to his very core. Sherlock began to realize that he wanted her...he wanted Molly Hooper. 

What he hadn’t quite decided yet was whether this was a desire worth giving in to.

Sherlock had been doing his best this week to step back in time, back to when things were far simpler between them. Perhaps in treating her as he had before he even knew who she truly was, he’d gain some clarity. Perhaps he’d find that she didn’t have to occupy such a prominent place in his mind after all.

Thus far though, the results were inconclusive. 

When Sherlock and John arrived at Bart’s morgue where the Inspector and Hooper were waiting, John leaned in closer to Sherlock.

“Judging from her expression, pretty sure she’s noticed the same recent pattern that I have.”

Sherlock had to admit, the small woman standing on the other side of the exam table did have a particularly hardened look in her eyes.

“Good of the two of you to grace us with your presence,” Molly sneered. “You’ll be amazed to hear that the Inspector and I have already determined the cause of death for this most recent victim, somehow without your expert assistance.”

Sherlock pursed his lip, glancing from her to the man’s body on the table.

“Enlighten me, then. What was the cause of death?”

“Strangulation,” Molly replied, her chin lifting a bit. “Just like the other victims this week.”

“No.”

Molly frowned. 

“I should clarify,” Sherlock added. “Yes, clearly cause of death was strangulation, but no it’s not just like the other victims this week. Perhaps you would like to know why…”

“Right, out with it,” Lestrade prompted in exasperation. 

“Well, if you insist.” Sherlock drew a deep breath, preparing to begin. “If you had noticed one of the smaller features of the strangulation wounds on the other three victims, you would have looked for tiny fibers embedded in this victim's skin, suggesting a course rope like the other ones. The rope has never been found on any of the scenes, therefore we can assume the killer has kept it and used the same one on all of them.”

“It could be different ropes of the same making,” Molly suggested sternly.

“Clearly not, Hooper, you’ve missed something yet again.” Sherlock chuckled for a moment. “Remember, this is a serial killer. Their actions are a compulsion and they want everything just so. They’re pleased with the rope they chose and they wouldn’t be quick to discard it when it’s been working so nicely thus far.”

He pointed to the wound around this victim's neck.

“The diameter of the markings is the same, but the skin isn’t quite as roughed up and bears no embedded fibers. This was done likely with a piece of cloth or smooth material. Therefore...this is not a related crime.”

Lestrade gaped at Sherlock. “So- so it’s not the fourth serial killing in a week? It’s just an unrelated killing?”

“Indeed,” Sherlock confirmed with a grin. “Though, I’d be happy to solve this one for you as well if you’re in need.”

The inspector ran his hand over his face. “I suppose I’ll try my hand at it first,” he sighed. “Good day then, gentlemen. It appears I’ve got quite a lot of work to do.”

The moment Lestrade had left the morgue, Molly spoke up.

“Holmes, might I have a word?” It was far more a command than request.

“I’ll um, I’ll just…” John stammered. “I can wait upstairs if I’m not needed.”

When the two other people in the room continued their silent and heated staring at each other, the poor Dr Watson took that as a reply and scurried away as quick as he could.

“Come with me please,” Molly instructed, straightening her waistcoat before retreating to the back room and forcing Sherlock to follow. 

They’d barely rounded the corner when she whirled to face him angrily.

“As you can imagine I’m sure, I wanted the luxury of speaking my mind in my own voice. I can no longer hold back from telling you that all week you have been cold, obnoxious, demeaning, and downright rude! I’ve had to bite my tongue more times than I can count. Care to tell me why you’re suddenly arguing with me as if we don’t know each other at all?” She crossed her arms tight over her chest.

Sherlock hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I am simply doing and saying what I normally would.”

“Normally?” Molly huffed. “Normally as of when? A year ago?!”

Sherlock exhaled heavily. “Hate me if you must, but I am who I am.”

Molly shook her head slowly, gazing up at him as her voice softened to a tone that made his chest ache. “Wouldn’t that be easy? If only I could. Don’t you see, Holmes? I couldn’t hate you even if I wanted to.”

Something snapped inside him at those words. Perhaps she’d expressed what he hadn’t had the courage to. Perhaps the jarring reality was that neither of them had much control over the way they felt about the other anymore. 

“Take that ridiculous thing off.”

Moly frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“The mustache,” Sherlock clarified, barely realizing at first that his stream of consciousness had poured out aloud. “Take it off.”

“Holmes I can’t just-“

Molly was cut short and jumped a bit as he reached down and took hold of the offending facial hair, peeling it quickly off her upper lip. She was clearly about to protest, scold him, do something...but she didn’t end up having time.

Sherlock firmly cradled her face before leaning down and pressing his lips quite enthusiastically to hers. He felt her little jolt of surprise, but it was only for a split second, and then he felt her arms encircle him with impressive force.

Time faded away as they clung to each other, becoming completely lost in their kiss. When Sherlock finally pulled away and looked into her eyes though, her shock was more than apparent. 

“Now what?” she whispered.

“Well,” Sherlock said licking his still tingling lips. “There’s only one logical thing I suppose, given the circumstances.”

“And what’s that?” Molly questioned, still a bit breathless.

He gave her a little smile. “We’d probably better reattach that mustache before anyone else comes into the morgue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’ve both finally cracked under the feels pressure! But now what’s Sherlock thinking?? XD The story continues tomorrow and the theme is a real fun one- Huddling For Warmth. See you guys then hehe! :D


	6. A Study in Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6- Huddling for warmth

“So...a boat?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Sherlock replied with a smile as they approached the little vessel on a dock of the Thames.

Molly tugged her mittens on, becoming more acutely aware of the chill in the air with each passing moment. It was more of a small skiff really, barely big enough for the two of them, particularly with the volume of her skirts.

“This must be awfully important,” she muttered, mostly to herself as she continually tried to justify the fact that she’d even agreed to come out here.

“Of course it is,” he replied with a little frown. “And I’m pleased you were able to join me.”

“It’s not a problem,” Molly said with a tight smile as he stepped into the boat and reached out a hand to help her in.

The truth was though, there may indeed be a problem. Her head was swimming with rather distracting questions. The idea of helping him with some case on the river at twilight was difficult to focus on given the way the memory of his kiss still haunted her.

The kiss which he’d yet to truly address.

After that moment three days ago, he did indeed help her in rushing to apply the fake mustache again. And it was just in time because Anderson returned to the morgue from his break. That was the end of the moment, and then Sherlock was gone. The next time she saw him was this evening when he came to her flat insisting that he needed her to accompany him on a boat. 

Molly hated herself a little for having agreed. Perhaps she could have shut the door in his stupidly chiseled face. Because despite the fact that her entire life was built around flying in the face of propriety, sometimes she longed for a bit of social normalcy. She longed to be treated like the lady that she was and she wondered if her dealings with Sherlock Holmes had made him believe that those usual rules of behavior didn’t apply to her. Heaven help her, but she knew she’d fallen for the infuriating man. It wasn’t enough that she couldn’t have him. Now she’d quite literally had a taste which would be a constant reminder of what could not be.

She was frustrated at the entire situation, and knew that he was not the only one at fault. And as awkward as it had the potential to be, this might be just the occasion to set things straight. 

In the meantime though, she glanced up, realizing that the breathtaking evening scenery may do wonders at calming her mounting nerves.

“I suppose it is a lovely evening, despite the chilly air,” Molly commented as she settled into the bench seat and stared at the pink and orange sunset as Sherlock pushed away from the dock. 

“Lovely,” Sherlock agreed, his voice soft while steering the small vessel. 

“I should ask though,” Molly added, “Is there anything or anyone in particular that we’re looking out for?”

“Looking out for?” He chuckled a little. 

“Well, yes. Because I can only assume this is case related.”

Sherlock stared back at her, blinking a couple of times before clearing his throat. 

“Hooper- er, Miss Hooper, perhaps I haven’t exactly…”

His words trailed off as some wind picked up. Sherlock took hold of the rudder and ropes for the sail, attempting to keep it steady. 

“Goodness, it really is rather windy, isn’t it?” Molly held tight to her hat. 

“I’m sure it’ll- it’ll just die down any moment now,” Sherlock assured her as he very clearly struggled to maintain control. 

Molly gripped the side of the boat as she felt it suddenly lift a bit on one side. “Holmes! Whatever we’re doing out here perhaps it can be done on shore. At least till the weather calms.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He sighed heavily, cursing under his breath. “Yes, I’ll turn us around.” 

As Sherlock gave the boat a hard turn though, another gust of wind whipped around them. The timing and angle was just right. Or more accurately, very wrong. 

Molly hardly knew what happened. One moment she was sitting in the boat and the next she was submerged in the frigid Thames River, the air squeezed from her lungs with the cold. She popped to the surface at the same moment she felt Sherlock’s arms encircle her. 

“It’s alright! I’ve got you!” Sherlock gasped, pulling her toward the river bank. 

Molly hadn’t thought they’d gotten very far till they were actually in the water and having to make their way back to shore. She tried to kick her legs and help but it was little use with her skirts in the way. Thankfully, Sherlock was able to get them to dry land by his own strength. 

Molly lay there in the mud, wondering if she’d ever been so cold in all her life.

“Come on, you’ve got to get up,” Sherlock instructed, not waiting for her to comply before wrapping his arms around her and lifting.

“Holmes, give me a moment, please,” she begged, unabashedly clinging to him as she could barely stand while shivering in the layers of soaking, freezing fabric.

“You haven’t got a moment, Miss Hooper,” he replied, ushering her to the carriage she barely noticed was there. How had they made it up the embankment?. “We’ll need to return to Baker St. immediately since your...professional attire is there and you can change into that.”

Molly could only nod in compliance as he helped her climb into the carriage. 

It was the longest twenty minutes she’d ever experienced, sitting in her weighed down clothing in the back of that carriage. She barely resisted at first, the fact that Sherlock sat with his arm wrapped tightly around her the whole time. He muttered what sounded like angry words to himself that she couldn’t completely hear and understand.

To reach Sherlock’s flat, he had to all but lift and carry her. It occurred to Molly as they finally reached his sitting room that he was as soaked to the bone as she was, and it was beyond her how he had the strength to hurry them both the way he was.

Sherlock gave her some clean flannels and her change of clothing, offering her the washroom as he went to change in his bedroom.

It was with much difficulty that Molly managed to complete the task of removing all her soaked clothing and putting on Hooper’s instead. Every move felt like a chore with the shivers that still plagued her.

When she finally came out, she nearly wept with gratitude at the sight of the fire Sherlock had gotten started. He was crouched by the fireplace in his dressing gown, stoking the flames to build it up as best he could.

“Come on, sit here,” he said, waving her over.

Molly happily obeyed, kneeling in front of the slowly growing flames, her palms reaching out eagerly for extra warmth. He handed her a cup of blessedly hot tea.

“You’re still shivering,” Sherlock commented a moment later, stating the obvious as the porcelain rattled in her shaking hands.

She turned to face him, not having realized how close they were sitting. 

“I’m ok,” she attempted through still chattering teeth.

“For God sake,” Sherlock muttered, and Molly’s eyes went wide as he threw off his dressing gown to reveal his bare chest.

“Holmes wh-what are you-“

“You know what I’m doing because you know how hypothermia works and you know the fastest way to counteract it,” he stated simply. “What do you have under that shirt?”

“A um…” Her mind was swimming and blank all at once. “A-a chemise.”

“Right,” Sherlock replied with a single nod. “Then take the shirt off.”

“Holmes, I’m sure I’ll-“

“Propriety be damned, I refuse to watch you freeze to death on my sitting room floor!” He paused, clearing his throat and lowering his voice. “Miss Hooper, please.”

Molly could have sworn she felt warmer already.

She finally nodded in agreement, lifting her trembling fingers to unbutton and remove the white shirt. No sooner had she placed it on the chair behind her than she felt a blanket encircle her shoulders and Sherlock’s arms close around her. There was only a split second of embarrassment and awkwardness, and then it hit her. 

God, but he felt absolutely  _ divine _ . Molly couldn’t resist melting right into him. A little shiver ran through her, but it wasn’t the awful kind she’d been having. It was as if her whole body was defrosting and it truly was sweet relief. She instinctively snaked her arms around his bare torso, now happily contributing to their closeness.

“Better?”

Molly smiled a little against his shoulder, hearing his voice crack. “Much better, yes. Thank you.”

“I hardly deserve your thanks.” His tone hardened noticeably. “I’m the imbecile who nearly got you killed!”

“It's not your fault it was windy. And besides, you saved me.” She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the feel of his palm moving rhythmically up and down her arm.

“I was stupid. After all that research...and it’s still not my area.”

Molly lifted her head a bit to look at him with some interest. “What’s not your area?”

Sherlock stared at her for a long time, visibly hesitating. 

“You... _ us _ ,” he finally whispered. 

Molly’s brow furrowed. “Us?”

The look in his eyes made her want to kiss him right then, just like he’d done at Bart’s. 

“Us,” Sherlock confirmed. “You mentioned earlier you thought this was a case. Well that wasn’t what my invitation was about at all. I invited you out on a boat because I’d researched…”

He paused, gulping nervously. 

“I’d researched the most romantic forms of courting.”

Oh now she was most definitely getting warmer. 

“Courting,” Molly repeated in a whisper. 

Sherlock nodded, gingerly reaching up to move a still damp bit of hair off her forehead. “Seems I’ve made a mess of it.”

Molly’s lips lifted instantly in a little smile. “Have you? Perhaps you’re simply inventing your own romantic form of courting.”

She saw his lips twist a bit, not quite willing to allow a smile. 

“Molly,” Sherlock added, seriously as he could. “Hypothermia is not romantic, it’s a very serious and life threatening condition.”

Molly slid one hand up to brush gently against his face. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” she whispered. “If this isn’t romance, I don’t know what is.”

She moved her hand to the back of his neck, tugging him down as she tilted her head up. And when their lips met, now for the second time, the fire next to them was nothing compared to the one burning within her. 

Molly kissed him with a greater fierceness than at the hospital. That had been so different. She’d been so shocked and confused. But now she’s never felt so sure, so confident. In light of that, their bodies turned, facing each other a bit more as the kisses continued blissfully on. 

It occurred to Molly that perhaps all of this was one reason a chaperone was considered a necessity when courting. As well as traditionally keeping one’s clothing  _ on _ . 

“You’re right,” Sherlock gasped, pulling away. “I may have actually outdone myself in the way of romance.”

Molly laughed, stroking his cheek. “So when were you planning to tell me about the idea of courtship?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I did feel I’d made my intentions rather clear in the morgue the other day, but…”

“But you didn’t really  _ say so _ ,” Molly explained pointedly. 

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, apologies. In my defense though, I had been planning on a rather frank discussion while boating at sunset. Which obviously didn’t quite go as planned.”

“I think you and I both know that a lot of things don’t go as planned,” she said, giving him a soft smile. “And at the moment...I can’t say I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it get much better than your OTP having to resort to body heat? I think not. :) These two are finally together, so tomorrow I’ll close out their story with the theme for Day 7, which is a favorite HC. I could tell you what that is but I think I’d rather make you wait till tomorrow. ;)


	7. A Conclusive Study in Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7- Your favorite HC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to bring this week and this fic to a close! Hope you guys have enjoyed the daily updates and I’ll tell you my HC in the closing notes. ;)

“Don’t even think about it.”

Sherlock’s brow lifted. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do. You were thinking about how long till Anderson returns to the morgue and whether you have time to kiss me.”

He smirked. “If we bother discussing it, of course there won’t be any time.”

Molly lifted a warning finger as she saw him take a step closer, clearing her throat as she heard Anderson returning. Sherlock rolled his eyes and motioned for her to follow him.

“You! Keep working,” Molly instructed Anderson gruffly. “We’ve got to get some supplies out back.”

They’d barely rounded the corner before Sherlock had her in his arms, pressing a kiss to as much of her mouth as he could manage around the inconvenience of the mustache. 

“Mr Holmes, that is quite enough,” she whispered. “You cannot take these sort of risks!”

“I agree, but these two months have been absolute _torment_!”

“It’s been six weeks.”

“Actually, it’ll be seven weeks tomorrow, which is very nearly two months.”

Molly laughed, shaking her head as she caressed his face. “It’s endearing, the way you can’t endure this process.”

Sherlock very intentionally dropped his voice to a low rumble, leaning in to whisper in her ear as his hand perched on her waist.

“And you can?”

Pulling back to see her half lidded eyes staring back at him with pupils blown wide, he gave her a smug little smile.

Molly licked her lips, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to maintain composure. She gave him a somewhat playful glare.

“The fact is that you and I both need to endure if we want to do this right.”

Something hit him at her wording, like a bolt of lightning, and suddenly...he knew.

Sherlock grasped her hands, staring at her intently. “What if we already have?”

Molly’s expression was definitely one of confusion. “Pardon? Already have...what?”

“You said we needed to do this right. Well, what if we already have? For us! Perhaps for us, courtship has long since been done and over with!”

“Holmes, do be serious,” she laughed.

“I have never been more so,” he replied, and by the shift in her features, she was beginning to believe it.

“Marry me,” Sherlock added, soft but insistent. “Come to the courthouse with me this evening. Or tomorrow.”

“Wh-what?” Molly stammered, her jaw hanging open and cheeks getting pink. “Marry you?!”

Sherlock paused, pressing his lips together in thought for a moment. “Forgive me, I forgot the _question_ aspect. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your instructions after that case some months ago,” He cleared his throat. “Miss Molly Hooper...will you marry me?”

Molly lifted their joined hands and kissed his knuckles. “Holmes, you know I want to marry you. But...rushing off? Just like that?”

“Just like that!” His eyes brightened with the thrill of it, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he saw that light reflecting in hers as well. “What more do the two of us need to know of one another? How many more weeks and months of agonizing chaperoned dinners at the Watson’s?”

Molly snorted a little laugh.

“Have we not learned more about each other even _before_ courting than most do after two years of these silly little rituals?” Sherlock dropped his voice. “I know I want you, I know I want to make you happy, I know the rest of my living days will be better having you with me,...and I know I love you.”

Molly swiped at her eyes. “Good heavens, I never thought I’d be proposed to while looking like this.”

“Well?” he prompted, peering at her, feeling on the edge of his seat. “What do you say?”

She drew a deep breath and released it, smiling at him. “What else can I say but that I echo every one of your sentiments. I love you too, _so_ so dearly. And yes...let’s get married.”

* * *

Molly rolled over, squinting at the unrelenting sunshine streaming in through the uncovered window. She wasn’t the only one offended by its intrusion. 

She smiled to herself, hearing Sherlock curse softly under his breath before standing from the bed and pulling the drapes tightly together, once again wrapping the room in the comfort of darkness.

When he climbed back under the covers, she shifted over, sliding an arm over his middle and letting out a contented little groan as she settled her cheek against his chest. 

“Forgive me, I didn’t think to shut the drapes last night,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her rumpled hair.

Molly tilted her head up, lifting a brow at him. “I can’t imagine what else commanded your rapt attention before falling asleep.”

“Oh, can you not, Mrs. Holmes?” 

Molly let out a little squeal of laughter as she found herself very suddenly shifted to her back as her husband’s lips descended to the side of her neck. Not just anywhere of course, but the _exact right spot_. Because of course it had taken Sherlock Holmes less than three bloody days to pinpoint what turned her to absolute mush in his arms.

“Mm, that’s right...now I remember,” she murmured.

Sherlock left the side of her neck, instead bringing his lips to hers, slanting one way and then the other, kissing and releasing over and over again in a teasing little dance. Unable to endure a moment more, Molly’s fingers threaded into his hair, closing in a fist as she brought him in for a much more substantial kiss. All evidence taken into consideration, he seemed to very much appreciate her initiative.

Molly smiled inwardly, thinking she might just be learning how to turn him into mush as well. 

As quickly as their passion had ignited though, a blanket was thrown over the flame when they both heard footsteps on the creaking steps up to 221B. 

Sherlock inclined his head a bit, still hovering over her as he listened carefully. After a moment of subtle noises, followed by then descending footsteps back down the creaking steps, he turned back to his wife and smiled.

“Just Mrs. Hudson, bringing the morning post and tea.”

“Ah,” Molly breathed in relief. “I admit some tea sounds delightful.”

“Ask and you shall receive!” Sherlock proclaimed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before throwing his dressing gown on and leaving the bedroom.

Molly stretched languidly in Sherlock’s- well, _their_ bed. It still felt unreal and almost as if she were doing something wrong, having spent the past three nights in this bed with him, doing things that made her blush to remember. But she kept reminding herself with a smile that this really was now her bed, her husband, and the celebration of their new life together.

Sherlock returned quickly, balancing the tray of tea and the post.

“I believe Mrs Hudson is taking things a bit too sentimentally, since she’s included flowers on the tray.”

“I think that’s sweet!” Molly leaned in and took an appreciative sniff as he set it down on the bed.

As she poured the tea, Sherlock was silent for a moment, sitting next to her and thumbing through the post.

“Anything interesting?” Molly asked, taking the first warm sip.

Sherlock didn’t respond at first, his eyes riveted to one particular envelope. Finally, he grinned, holding it out to her.

“Actually yes. It seems you’ve received your first post. And I do believe it’s someone who has decided to send us, and especially you, a gift.”

“Really?” Molly cocked her head. “I thought only your family and the Watsons and Mrs. Hudson knew.”

“Yes, that’s right. This gift is, strangely enough I believe, from my brother.”

“Oh! How lovely of him.”

“It is, yes,” Sherlock agreed, nodding and handing the envelope over. 

Her eyes first took in the name written meticulously on the front- Mrs. Molly Holmes.

Sherlock set the post aside and scooted over as Molly opened it up and took out the paper to begin reading, seeing that the heading read, “a gift, dear sister.” She began scanning the words, barely getting through the first paragraph before clasping a hand over her mouth. What she read was far too good to be true.

“Can this really be?” Molly questioned in ecstatic disbelief. “I’ll be working at St Bart’s hospital? _Really me_!”

“Congratulations,” Sherlock replied softly, giving her a little kiss on the cheek.

“Did you do this?”

He pursed his lips. “Not exactly. But a few days ago when we decided to marry, I did go to my brother and explain that living as a married couple would make your current professional situation considerably more difficult. I told him this was a concern of ours, and if it was possible to remove that concern completely, starting married life might be much improved. I suggested that perhaps he try to speed things along regarding your employment.”

Molly’s smile spread slowly, and she managed to carefully place the letter from Mycroft and the tea tray aside before leaping back onto the bed and practically tackling her husband back against the pillows, sprinkling words between kisses. 

“If I thought...I couldn’t love you...more than I already did...I was wrong! And I definitely need to thank your brother!”

“In a very different way, I hope.”

Molly laughed, curling up against him, her hand comfortably nestled inside his dressing gown and atop his heart. 

“A week ago I never would have believed this would be my life,” she whispered. 

“It does all seem rather sudden I suppose,” Sherlock admitted, his arms locking around her and fingers nestling in her undone hair. 

“Though...in a way I feel as if we’ve been building up to this for quite some time. Even before we knew it. As if the evidence was slowly gathering around us until suddenly it all just pointed to one undeniable conclusion.”

“Undeniable indeed,” Sherlock agreed, turning to kiss her soundly. 

One kiss led to another, and then another, and very soon they sunk back down into the world of pillows and covers together. Both husband and wife found they were in complete agreement, albeit nonverbal, that despite a conclusion having been most certainly reached...there was always plenty more research to be done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my fave HC for sherlolly, and I think it fits well in this era, is that they’d basically say, forget this whole courting/dating thing...let’s just get married already! Thanks again for reading and commenting, I’ve enjoyed participating in this appreciation week for such a magnificent ship. And thanks again to Lexie, not only for beta reading, but also for coming up with the idea in the first place. ❤️


End file.
